


The Second Session

by tadstrangerthings



Series: Skipper Gets Some Fucking Therapy [3]
Category: Penguins of Madagascar
Genre: M/M, Therapy, but did they? who's to say, they give off the VIBES of people who used to date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadstrangerthings/pseuds/tadstrangerthings
Summary: “So, let’s review, last session, we broke you down to many of your core traits and neuroses.”“Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I have the capacity to remember last week.” Skipper muttered.Based on @drawbauchery's human au.
Relationships: Hans and Skipper, Hans/Skipper (Madagascar)
Series: Skipper Gets Some Fucking Therapy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707862
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	The Second Session

“So, let’s review, last session, we broke you down to many of your core traits and neuroses.”

“Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I have the capacity to remember last week.” Skipper muttered.

“Well, now we’re here to build you back up, and work from that onwards.” Hans said. He had his hands folded plainly in his lap, and he’d changed the lighting in the office. Skipper hated it. He hated having to sit across from a smug as shit Hans as he waited calmly and quietly for Skipper to begin talking, with that terrible, blinding light that gave off a strangely clinical feel that makes him more uneasy than anything else. He wonders if Hans would let him sleep for the hour he was meant to spend here. Sure, he’d be paying $35 for a nap, which was crazy in of itself, but he knows from experience that sometimes all you need is a good nap to be a functioning person again.

“I’m not in the position to really diagnose you with anything, and even if I was, I’d still need more time to get to know your mind before I could really prescribe anything for your current conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Plural. Like children trying to sneak into a cineplex in a trench coat, what was once one turned out to be two or more disorders standing on top of one another’s shoulders. Bouts of aggression and insomnia tied to intense paranoia, a complex that comes from being a leader, and a fear of depending on others. Abandonment issues, repression-“

Skipper waved his hands in a forceful sort of wave, “yes, thank you. Just tell me what to do about it already.”

“What?”

“Just fix me already.” Skipper seemed frustrated. “You’re the one who thinks I’m broken in the first place, the only reason I’m here in the first place is to prevent any future surprise tea parties.”

Hans sighed. They were barely even 5 minutes in, and Hans just knew he was going to be spending the rest of the session constructing arguments for statements Skipper constructed in seconds.

“If this was only to prevent any more…surprise visits from moi, then I would’ve been fine with just the first session. And I think you know that.”

He did. He did know that. Hans suggested the idea of a second session, and so did Skipper, in the way that you do when you’re bonding with people you have a rather hostile history with. No commitment was really stated, which left the ball in Skipper’s court, but what was he supposed to do after that thorough deconstruction, let it simmer in his soul for the rest of his known life?

He couldn’t even let it simmer for a whole week at this point, after all, he was already considering asking RICO of all people if he was too arrogant a leader and intentionally pushing people away.

RICO.

It made sense at the time, Kowalski would question where he was learning such jargon and be able to draw conclusions based on his recent absence, and Private would do nothing but validate him. Because he was just that nice, he supposed.

“Second, it’s not about being “broken” or “fixed” or what have you, the fact of the matter is that you have the most high-stress job in your already high-stress career. As much as I enjoyed our battles in the fish markets of Denmark, it’s not like the experience hasn’t done something to me, or you for that matter.”

Hans sighed, he was already just so exhausted by this…session. He’d even revealed that he too shared in mental health struggles if Skipper was willing to pick up the scraps left behind for him. Skipper looked a little surprised, sure, but fell back into an understood complacency sooner than later.

Was this the closest they were ever going to get to a true understanding of the other?

He supposed he’d have to take it.

“And lastly, I can’t tell you how to “fix” yourself. I’m a therapist, not a life coach. I’m not here to give advice, I’m here to examine your trauma, and give you a better perspective on how to move forward. However, I can’t take those steps for you. You kinda have to figure out a lot of those things on your own.”

Skipper looked positively moody about this, but less in a spoiled, petulant five-year-old sort of way, and more…accepting of it. He looked tired, and less because it was barely just a quarter past 1. It was an abstract tiredness, one not born of resting or restlessness, but a thing all its own.

Skipper sighed. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“This is a timely process for a reason, Skipper. Many people can spend years in therapy trying to handle these exact issues.”

“I didn’t realize this was a life sentence in the making.” Skipper muttered.

God, this was already such a process. Hans could tell that Skipper couldn’t stand the vagueness of this all. He was an action guy, he wanted an easy solution of doing task A to accomplish thing B, and achieve reward C, and go on with his life.

No, not even an easy solution. A clear solution. Skipper was a problem solver. All of this was already so abstract, and he didn’t even know if he was so vehemently against this whole process just because it was him, or just because it was therapy at all. He even had a client who after a bad experience with a therapist in middle school decided to turn her sessions into stand-up, just because she was already so familiar and so bored with the process.

Maybe that’s what he needed to channel. Therapy in of itself was at the best of times uncomfortable and at the worst of times boring. He was already dealing with a high energy, high stress client, who was uncomfortable as all hell with being there. If he put him back into a comfortable situation, he may or may not get something out of him, and if he doesn’t, at the very least make him more comfortable with spending time with him at all, off the clock, at least.

“What do you like to do, Skipper? In your free-time?”

Skipper eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, why?”

“I’m trying something. Trust me here.”

That could’ve been phrased SO much better, from nemesis to nemesis, but Skipper seemed willing in the moment to run with that trust. “I like working on my combat capabilities, driving around, sometimes I watch TV and movies, I help Private bake when he feels like it, I nap, I gamble…”

Skipper seemed to be drawing a blank for whatever reason. Surely, he had things he did in his free time, right? It wasn’t like he was ALWAYS on the clock, he just never really thought of certain periods of time as…free. What even counted as free-time anyhow? Was it just time that wasn’t spent doing other things? Under that definition, no time was free.

“Can I say this to you as both a friend, an enemy, and somebody who’s known you for quite a few years at this point?”

Skipper nodded hesitantly.

“Jesus Christ, you need some hobbies.” Hans stated, matter of factly. “Working on your “combat capabilities,” as you put it, seems to be a literal constant considering your job as…however your job is defined, so it’s less play and more work than anything else. You mentioned helping Private bake “when he feels like it,” and I wouldn’t exactly call napping a hobby, or gambling a healthy one.”

Skipper shrugged. It’s not like “Stomp the Wombat” ever left the confines of the lair, anyhow.

“It just feels like you don’t have a lot of things you do just for yourself, you know? Driving around and watching TV are the only hobbies that feel wholly your own, something you don’t do for work or for others. Keep in mind that you can keep doing these things you enjoy, but perhaps you should find other things for yourself. Like an instrument, or a cooking class.”

“I told the boys that I joined a bowling league just to be here.”

“And did that seem believable enough for you to do to be here?”

His silence told Hans everything, but not the literal everything of Skipper “going to bed” at 8 just to climb through his window at 12:30, shimmy down the fire escape, and walk to Hans’s office.

But he probably could tell anyhow.

Of course, this kind of put a blight on Hans’s plans to make Skipper more comfortable while being here, and as he told him such, Skipper proceeded to lay down on the couch. Hans couldn’t tell the exact reason for the action, but it did seem to be a point of exasperation for him.

“Well, damn, sorry I “foiled your plot” to make myself comfortable in the den of the beast.”

“Skipper, you insult me. You really think I’d decorate my den with wooden sailboats? Absolutely criminal.”

“You seem to forget that.” He muttered. Hans ignored it.

“Although the hobby talk didn’t exactly lead where I thought it could…It did lead me elsewhere.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What skill have you always wanted to learn? What’s something that you’ve wanted to try for just, so long, and never got the chance to?”

Skipper began to pick at his lip. This whole talk already made him nervous, but now what was he supposed to say? That he figured he’d be in the back of a truck with is hand hanging out the taillight since he was 14, for whatever reason, so he didn’t even bother considering his top 3 colleges, let alone any future ambitions?

Still, if he was quiet for too long, either Hans would judge him, or he’d render his lips a bloody mess, and that’d be a whole different thing to deal with.

“…Archery sounds fun.” He said. Hans nodded.

“That’s interesting. It’s closely related to your pre-established interests but it’s closer to a sport now than something to be used in an actual combat situation, which sort of allows it to be separated from your work.”

Skipper nodded as well, allowing Hans to believe that that was his thought process from the start, and more of just curious to see if he could shoot a flame off a candle like Annie Oakley.

“You mentioned you liked baking with Private. Do you like the idea of baking itself, or just doing it with another person?”

“Food is meant to be shared?” Skipper seemed to be asking, but also stated in a very definitive way. “It’s a process. It’d be weird not to help in the process.”

Hans pulled his hand away from Skipper’s mouth, where a few small cuts were beginning to form. “If you’d like to have a session where we did a low-stress activity you wanted to do, and we talked while doing so, I think it’d put you in the best conductive environment possible to actually combat the problems that seem so visible to me. This was a good first development, though. I just don’t know if I can expect on accidental issues to identify and attack every time.”

Hans sighed and got up from his chair to stare out the window. Skipper didn’t know why he did this, outside of being a dramatic bitch, but it got him to look anyhow.

“It’s so incidental, many people struggle with balancing work and life as is, but this could easily be one of the main causes of your paranoia, as well as causing a level of detachment and depersonalization, which relates to how you relate to others.”

And well, damn. What was Skipper supposed to say to that?

“Our time’s almost up.” Hans said, checking his watch. Skipper was coming to realize how strange time in therapy was. It simultaneously felt like hours and seconds passing all at once. Perhaps it was because there were no clocks, like a casino. Or maybe it was because going to therapy at 1 in the morning didn’t exactly give you a sun to follow in terms of time. Hans handed Skipper a weird sort of rack with string on it, along with some tissues.

“It’s a loom. Fidget with something that won’t bleed for the next five minutes, if you would.”

Skipper glared at him for the snide comment, but Skipper didn’t exactly put it back where Hans had stored it originally. Picking at the strings inanely didn’t feel as satisfying as his usual fidgets, but it would work until he lost focus and the skin had time to heal.

“I’m giving you three assignments until our next session.” Skipper would’ve originally rolled his eyes at the idea of homework, but there was something that felt already strange about this session. Last session, he was so thoroughly antagonized and owned in such a way that his entire psychological history had been exposed, but this made last session feel like…a misstep. It was almost like Hans was trying to give the rug back to Skipper after it had already been so unceremoniously swept away from him.

He seemed as unsure about this as he was, he even confided about the state of his own mental health, something he probably wasn’t supposed to do. Which, honestly, made Skipper feel better about the whole thing. He didn’t like being guided, and as much as he detested having to do this whole thing with Hans in particular, the idea of having to figure out a stranger at the same time they were trying to figure out him sounded like a nightmare. More than this already was.

The whole session felt off, sure, but it wasn’t as off as it could’ve been, and he knows it could only be worse.

“I want you to begin researching archery, if you really want to pursue it as a hobby, you should try to learn what you can about it before jumping in and figuring out it isn’t what you thought it was.”

“I want you to pay a compliment to each of your team members in a casual way, this’ll strengthen your bonds with them, in a way that allows you to affirm that you appreciate them, as much as they appreciate you.”

Okay, that sounded like hippie nonsense, but who was he to judge at this point.

“And finally, I want you to pick out a recipe to prepare during our next session.”

“Wait, what?”

“A recipe. Something that’ll take less than an hour. I have a friend who’d give me access to their kitchen in the middle of the night, so we’ll be on neutral ground, and I’m sure it’ll be more believable to your “boys” that if you really are doing something in the middle of the night, that you have physical proof of it. Considering how weirdly secretive you are already, the idea you covered up secret cooking lessons with a bowling league doesn’t sound too far-fetched.” Hans was muttering at this point. All these things answered questions he figured he’d have, but nothing that helped with where he was NOW.

“I know it’s a weird idea, but the clients who have had the chance to do different, vaguely active things during our sessions tend to be more open and honest with me about things that they’re worried about, things that they struggle with, and they can make for more engaging sessions where you actually take in what I’m telling you, and makes it less of a lecture.” Hans sighed. “If you hate it, we never have to try anything like that again, but, I do really want you to give it a try. This is a two-way street, I can only give as much as I myself get. I just got lucky this week.”

Skipper stopped strumming the loom.

“Text me the address.” He said, and Hans would have burst with joy if such a thing was appropriate in present company, until he realized.

“I…don’t have your number?”

“Oh, no, session’s over! Wow, how did the time fly? Guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, what a swell talk we had, doc,” Skipper yelled as he headed out the door.

“Pay at the front desk!” Hans yelled back before relaxing into his chair. Skipper was never going to be an easy client to deal with. Maybe he wouldn’t ALWAYS dance around the issues at hand, but he was never going to REALLY come clean about it. There may be things they never talk about, the same way Hans did.

And that was fine. Maybe it made what little he did learn all the more rewarding. Maybe it made what little he learned all the more meaningless if Skipper ever reached a point of complete and utter honesty with him, a fantasy he knew would never see come to light.

But who was to say, really?

It was all a matter of time.

After all, this was only the second session.

**Author's Note:**

> (Ahh! I can’t believe I didn’t post another fic for a whole! Month! I think it’s just because I didn’t really know what to do for the second session, and I think you can kinda tell, considering it’s not like Hans knows what to do either. Do you guys really want a whole fic series about Skipper going to therapy? I have no idea. It’s pretty fun, though. I don’t know how Hans became a therapist, either, but I guess that’s just what the dude does now. By the way, the client who turned her therapy sessions into stand-up comedy? That was just me in high school with my mandated therapist. I once gave a funeral to a squeaky toy I broke in the middle of the session. It was simultaneously so sad and so funny at the exact same time.)


End file.
